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F_el_ Note: Relational Chatter

Felicia Zamora | Poetry

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First skymouth. Then gathering. Tongue licking land, licking mountains, lakes, air. Glacier’s
touch-language. I carry Smith’s term in my throat. Here before the climb up the Perito Moreno
Glacier. All I lick with my eyes. All I graze with my body. Traces of me left—lint of me
on your sweater, my six-sided form dissolves on your tongue, blow on the dresser—dust of me
in your lungs. Touch: relational chatter. How my body speaks—dents & dendrites alike. Dents I
give. Dents I receive. Dents signify the possibility of reshaping. I touch ice boulders. I hold
glacial bits in my palm. Imagine the delicate folds my body makes to fit inside each. Language
of cells. Thought, too, a language of energy. I pray to terminus: do not to recoil from my touch. My
fossil-fuel fingers. I pray to air: do not abandon me. My oil-clad organs. Worry what travel makes of
me. Each boot heel imprints the shore. I stand at the ablation zone. Loss almost hidden, almost
invisible on the glacier’s face.

Poem in communion with: Term “touch-language” is from Ice Geographies: The Colonial Politics of Race & Indigeneity In the Arctic. Jen Rose Smith. Duke University Press. Durham and London, 2025. Pg. 32.